“We quickly became very familiar with this garden,and went there every day.It was open to the public yet almost empty.We were seduced by this oasis where colours used by Matissewere mixed with those of nature.“

*

during the 80's saint laurent and bergé bought jardin majorelle

and saved it from a real estate project in which the garden

was to be demolished and turned into a hotel complex.

the couple moved in and took care of the garden and

saint Llurent was often heard describe how he was able

to find an unlimited source of inspiration there and that he

’often dreamt about its unique colours’.

in 2008 saint laurent passed away in paris,but his ashes were scattered in the rose garden of jardin majorelle.at the funeral ceremony right there in the gardenhis partner pierre bergé finished his speech with the words;

.. ’but i also know that i will never forget what i owe you

and that one day i will join you under the moroccan palms’ ..

perhaps it is because they saved the lungs of the city,perhaps it is the painter’s every stroke of a brush,the designer’s dreams of its colours or the last words from his love,- that i found so much love and artistic passion living there,along with the amazing treasure of plants.i am extremely grateful today, for the folder of photographs i have inmy collection from there and i have now shared three polaroids,- two from inside the garden and an from outside,on rue yves saint laurent.they are now available as fine art printsin my personal 'print shop'.heartfelt thanks to you who have already sent for these prints..!it’ll be so beautiful to see how the garden lives on,also in your homes.hannahx

in a few days it’s his first birthday. one year old.and i’m still in the midst of.. taking it in. that’s what it feel like to me.i fiddle with the fact that he’s ours. that it is us. still.when i stroke his downy head and that’s all the world consists of.when i hang up one large and one tiny shirt,next to each other to dry in the window, towards the sun.when he sits and eats a piece of green apple and his gaze gets caughtsomewhere far away, where i also see myself in him.that’s when i take it in. as if i can only do it in brief breaths.i think to myself perhaps any other way i’d drown.

the love for him was immediate.

to land in living inside of it, is still indeterminate.

i take direction love. lead myself along a beautiful friend’s;

don’t let everything be a battle. not the small stuff.

and there i recognise the way. i know it by heart.

the curves of that softly worn, velvety banister.

also the small cracks. few but sharp.

38 years of caresses and of sliding down backwards.

in that house i grew up myself once.

it has some messy rooms.

that which for some might be what holds it all together,

what’s needed for it to work, to me is unfamiliar.

i can’t live inside of squares,

i need round tower rooms where you can see

the sky and the horizon.

where you never forget your wings.

maybe it’s selfish to shape love like that, just like your own.

but then, if i’m not strong, if i’m not as happy as i can be,

how can i be the best version of myself

- and really be there for him..?

there is also no office chair waiting,

on a beautiful appointed day, for me to return to work.

that’s the life of a freelancing mãma.

so i photograph and he crawls around among the petals.

i read e mails out loud in swedish, - whisper him in native tongue to rest.

i send replies quietly, in his sleeping skin against mine.

the hard part is that i have less of that which is just mine.

i have less time and more flighty thoughts that’s crowding.

but i have more desires, more ideas,

more inspiration that’ll soon rupture the seams.

and it is those two that also need to match,

not just us three that’s forming a family.

i take direction love. lead myself along that

softly worn, velvety banister.. upwards, upwards.

at times i close my eyes and smile inside of that which i don’t know.

trust myself, trust it, completely.

at times i have to start over. all the way down from the very first step,